


Quick, Quick, Slow

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Foot Massage, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Quick, Quick, Slow, Death, with predictable results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick, Quick, Slow

Steed wondered if he should ever tire of watching her undress. Such a simple action in itself, yet he admired each movement, fluid and precise, a revelation of her beauty. How she revealed the smooth line of her neck when she lifted her hair to detach a necklace; the nimble movements of her fingers as she removed each earring and laid them side by side upon the dresser. The coquettish shake of her head as her fingers smoothed through her hair from roots to ends.

He wasn’t unclothed himself – his dinner jacket lay across the chair beneath his bedroom window, hardly the worse for wear now that she had repaired the lapel. But otherwise he was still dressed, his back against the headboard of his bed.

“There’s a lecture on thermodynamics later this week,” Emma said, raising her dress to begin peeling off the sheer stockings that covered those shapely long limbs. “I know that you’re not overly fond of such things, but there’s to be a wine and cheese event after, and they say Professor Beller’s wine cellar is nothing short of spectacular.”

“You’re tempting me, Mrs. Peel,” said Steed, tilting his head to the side as long fingers skated over bare smooth flesh. 

“I thought a good wine cellar might.”

“I wasn’t referring to the wine cellar.”

Emma turned towards him, half-smiling. She balled up her stocking and threw it at him.

“Pay attention to what I say, Steed." 

“I’m only human.”

He noted, however, that she took a bit longer with the other stocking.

“I’ll go anywhere you like,” he said after a moment. “So long as I’m not obligated to stay awake for the lecture.” 

“If you promise not to snore overmuch, I think we can come to an agreement.”

She walked over to him to take back the thrown stocking. Steed slipped his arm around her waist.

“I missed telling you how very lovely you looked tonight.”

“Mm. Mr. Steed, you do flatter.” She tossled his hair. “And you looked very dashing in your tie and tails.”

Steed scooted over to his side of the bed so that she could sit down. She winced as she swung her legs onto the bed.

“Oh, my aching feet. I’ll tell you right now, Steed, if I never dance another step I can live happily.”

“We all must make sacrifices for Queen and Country, my dear." 

“Well the next time the Queen can be the dance instructor. Good heavens.”

Emma took one foot in her hand and rotated it. Steed could hear the ankle popping even from where he sat. 

“Here,” he said, “stretch out.”

He slid to the end of the bed and took one of her bare feet in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Just relax.”

He began to rub her foot, gentle but firm circles with his thumbs on the ball, then pressed down lightly on her toes with his palm. He felt her relax, looked up to see her eyes closing as he eased out the knots in her foot. He worked his way up to the pressure point in the middle of her foot. She gave a choked gasp. 

“Oh!”

Steed smiled. He massaged the ankle, rotating it one way and then the other, and then moved to the other foot. She gasped again, the breathy sound from her lips sending tingles down his spine, making his own breathing stilted. His hands crept up her legs, massaging the calf muscles, the smooth limbs so strong and sure and long. When he reached her knee and ran his hand beneath her dress, Emma opened one eye.

“And here I thought it was just a foot massage,” she muttered. 

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

Steed squeezed the pressure point on her knee and made her yelp, then pulled himself up beside her, his head resting on the same pillow with hers. Her dark eyes looked into his, and he saw contentment in them. 

“I should finish undressing,” she said after a moment. “Any idea where you’ve hidden my nightdress this time?”

“Left hand side of the closet. Don’t be in a hurry about it.”

He watched her go to the closet. Never had he imagined he would have cleared space for women’s things, yet whenever he opened the wardrobe doors to find her clothes, or entered the bathroom and saw her shampoo bottles on the side of the tub, he was overwhelmed with a sense of affection. She had left a part of herself in his apartment, just as her scent lingered on his pillows, just as he sometimes tasted her last kiss.

She dropped the zipper of the dress deftly, baring her back to his view. Steed rolled out of bed and went to her. She didn’t resist when he slipped his hand into the open back of the dress, curving his hand until he cupped her lace-covered breast, his mouth seeking the tender skin on the back of her neck. 

“Thank you,” he said, pressing his lips to her ear.

“For what?” 

“For…fixing my lapel.” 

Emma laughed. “And what is to be my reward?”

He bit her earlobe. “What would you like?” His other hand slid down across her buttocks.

“You’re making an excellent start.” 

She turned in his arms and brought her lips to his, a gentle, tender kiss that he returned even as he walked her back to the bed, dropping her dress along the way.

Steed had been with a number of women – some he’d cared for deeply, and even loved. But Emma Peel was something different altogether. She fit him in a way he had not dared believe possible – she was a challenge, an enigma, a glorious, wondrous creation. She seduced him without trying to, found her way into his heart in way that no one else had. She even took care of him, not because she had to - because she wanted to.

He wondered if she knew what a gift that was for him. He’d been fiercely independent from the moment he was sent away to school. No one ever tried to look after him, stroke his hair when he was frightened, mend his clothes, hold him not out of obligation but out of love. He’d resisted entanglements, told himself that it was a bad idea to grow attached in his business. Until her, he’d never known how desperately he wanted to be attached.

But there was she was, naked in his bed, her body conforming to his as his conformed to her. Steed marveled at the softness of her skin, and tenderness in her eyes. He kissed the high cheekbones, the warm mouth, the thin scar above her brow, clasped the hands in his own. He wanted to take his time, and discover her with his hands and mouth, ignoring, for a moment, the demanding throb of his own arousal.

Emma’s voice called to him, not in words but in sounds, the sighs and whimpers of increasing arousal. Her legs spread and hips shifted, demanding his touch, yet he knew that in taking that gift it would all be over too soon. He lowered his head instead to her breast, stroking the nipple with his lips until it grew pointed and red, the taste of her skin salty on his tongue. One hand went into his hair while the other ran down his back, her strong fingers pressing into the muscles. How he loved to be stroked by her, touched by her, tender and demanding at once. He sucked on her nipple until he heard her cry, her breath shortening and hips rising again. 

A hand between her legs found her wet – that amazed him somehow, that she could want him as he wanted her. He touched her clitoris with the edge of his thumb and she started, the hard nub inflamed and warm. His lips went to her throat, kissing the pulse point there, and then he raised his head to look into her eyes, now even darker with arousal.

“Yes, John,” she said, voice husky. “Yes.”

He stroked her clitoris and she moaned. Her mouth opened and head arched back. When she looked at him again she bit her lip, and for a moment he thought he saw the answer to his own question in the depths of her eyes, so adoring, so lustful, so lovely in her ecstasy. He took her lip from between her teeth by capturing with his own.

Steed couldn’t ignore her desire or his own any longer. Shifting so that he lay between her legs, he spread her wider with his hands before entering her. She bucked almost immediately and he felt her contract in a small but intense orgasm. He waited, eyes closed and muscles taut, wanting to make her come at least once more before he did. As she stilled again, her fingers dug into his backside, urging him deeper. They moved in unison. 

Time vanished. There was nothing but her, the sounds she made, the warmth of her, the pleasure he had being within her, giving her pleasure and taking it himself. He’d found a long time ago that satisfying a woman was important to his own satisfaction, and so tried to be attuned to what his partner needed. With her it was easy. He knew every cry, every tiny response of her body to him, every sound and wordless demand. And she knew him – she knew when to tighten her legs around his back, and when to rub his chest; when to kiss him and bite him and when to run her nails down his skin. He surrendered to her and she to him, and it was a wondrous exchange, dear to him as everything they did together. When she came again, he came with her, the pent-up pressure releasing in an orgasm he didn’t want to end, his body shaking apart, becoming a part of hers, and her arms around him, holding him tightly together.

Kisses dotted his neck as his breathing slowed.

“That was new,” Emma said into his ear, sending another tremor down his spine.

“Good?” He kissed her jaw. 

“Mm. Very.” 

He rolled off of her but kept his arms around her. She reached up to stroke his chest, her lips lightly touching his collarbone.

“But new,” she repeated.

He drew her close and held her, hoping that she understood what he had only just begun to.


End file.
